


The Days We Remembered, The Days We Forgot

by MikaKagehjra



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Multi, PTSD written by someone without it, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve as the Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2100408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikaKagehjra/pseuds/MikaKagehjra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve as the Winter Soldier AU. When Steve decides he can’t be the Soldier anymore, the only person he knows to go to for help is the man from the bridge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He didn't know why he'd ended up on this stranger's doorstep. He supposed he couldn't call the dark-haired man his mission anymore, not now that he'd gone rogue. But the man had called him Steve, and that made him feel like he was going to throw up, and that was more than he'd felt in a long time. He still wasn’t sure if he was ready to feel any more than that, not if that was what feeling was like--he couldn’t remember--but he didn’t feel like he had a choice. Whenever he’d been told to trap a target before he killed it, it tried to escape. No, those were people, those targets were people. He’d been trapped without struggling for decades, he knew that much. What he couldn’t figure out was why he’d never tried to run away. He knew somehow that he hadn’t, and that if he’d tried, there’s a good chance he would have succeeded. Why didn’t he try?  
He wasn’t an idiot. He knew that there was a time before the adulthood in HYDRA’s hands that he remembered, and he could conclude that the dark-haired man must have known him if he knew what to call him. He could only assume Steve had been his name once. If he thought about it until his head ached and his eyes throbbed in his skull, he thought he could remember seeing it written somewhere next to his picture, Steve Rogers, followed by an unimportant serial number. As he walked up the steep stairs of the 40’s-style apartment building, he wondered for a moment why he hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. But it hadn’t been information about a target. Only targets had ever been important.  
One thing the Soldier--no, Steve, he couldn’t be the soldier anymore so he had to be Steve, even if he had no idea who that was. One thing Steve knew how to do was gather information about a target. And he knew his last target had been Captain America, so as soon as his mind was made up to pursue the recognition he’d seen in those eyes, he headed to the exhibit in the Smithsonian.  
Which was where he’d seen his own face paired with the name Steve again. He didn’t remember being as small as he was in the first photo he saw, the dark-haired man a good foot taller than him, their arms around each other’s shoulders. He hadn’t known his face could smile like that. The dark-haired man, Captain America, the target he failed to kill, was smiling back at him with his arm around thin shoulders. James B. Barnes with his best friend, Steve Rogers, the picture was captioned. Steve Rogers is the only one of the Howling Commandos to give his life in service to his country. But obviously Steve Rogers wasn’t dead--perhaps he didn’t exist anymore except in name, but he could see the thickness of his own hands before his eyes. Those weren’t the hands of a dead man. He would know.  
The Smithsonian was where he learned about Captain America’s story, and his own. Steve Rogers and James B. Barnes grew up together in a poorer part of Brooklyn, taking care of each other even though they could hardly take care of themselves. Steve Rogers was thin and sickly, not able to work full-time even on his good days, and he was constantly getting into fights with men much bigger than him. He was an artist, and he sold what work he could to try to contribute. James B. Barnes worked to support the both of them, found Steve in the backs of alleys when he wasn’t home when his shift ended, brought home canvases and sketchbooks and pencils when he had the spare change. Their life wasn’t quiet, but it was routine, and they were content with it.  
When the war came, Steve Rogers tried to enlist dozens of times with dozens of identities, but he was disqualified by a multitude of health issues that miraculously didn’t kill him before adulthood. James B. Barnes did not enlist, but that didn’t stop him from being drafted. And he was shipped off the day before Steve Rogers miraculously was allowed into the army. And in the ensuing turmoil, James B. Barnes was given a preliminary super soldier serum which transformed him into Captain America, and Steve Rogers was captured, experimented on, rescued, and killed by HYDRA.  
Or made use of by HYDRA, he thought, but the history books couldn’t be trusted to get it right anyway. How ironic, that a man who fought against HYDRA, whose best friend was Captain America, became HYDRA’s greatest asset. He thought he was probably supposed to feel disturbed at the prospect, but he couldn’t feel a thing. He wasn’t the same Steve Rogers that had grown up with James B. Barnes in the 1900s. He didn’t feel the same things as that Steve Rogers, even though they presumably shared a body. The Former Soldier knew he was taller than the Steve Rogers in that first picture, but that could probably be explained by the experimentation. Captain America had known him, had recognized him even in this stronger body. That had to count for something.  
He wouldn’t know anything for certain unless he asked.


	2. Chapter 2

Finally, he knocked. And the man from the bridge answered the door with wide blue eyes. Suddenly, he felt like he didn’t fit in his own skin. It itched at the back of his neck, but he knew better than to let his guard down to scratch it.  
“I’m sorry… I didn’t know where else to go.”  
“Oh my god.”  
For what felt like an eternity, James B. Barnes (he had called him something else Before, he knew it, but he couldn’t remember what) didn’t say anything else. Steve began to wonder if he should leave, if he wasn’t welcome after all. It’d been seventy years since he’d had any use for social etiquette, and why did he think it was perfectly normal to show up on the doorstep of an absolute stranger, even if he was supposed to know him?  
“Oh my god, Steve. Thank god, I was so worried--” James B. Barnes started forward as if to embrace him, but aborted the movement almost immediately. Steve wouldn’t admit that he was thankful for that. Then he turned and shouted into the apartment, “Nat, it’s Steve!” He ushered Steve through the door, closing it slowly behind him. Steve could see bruises peeking out from under a white t-shirt, reminiscent of the last time they met, and for a moment felt a pang of what must be remorse.  
He didn’t think he liked it.  
The red-haired woman who had been with Barnes (Steve resolved to call him that for now, for lack of a better option) on the bridge entered the room. The first thing Steve noticed about her was that she kept her hands where they were easily visible. The second thing he noticed was that her hair curled when it was wet. The third was that if he imagined her hair much shorter, he thought he might recognize her from somewhere. He catalogued the name “Nat” in his mind to analyze later.  
“I told you to call me Natasha in front of company,” she started. She was speaking to Barnes, but her eyes were locked on Steve’s. She didn’t trust him, Steve could tell. He didn’t blame her. He didn’t trust himself. “Why did you come here?”  
“Natasha!” Barnes was scolding, but Steve raised a hand to signal him to stop. The question was direct, but it wasn’t meant to ostracize him.  
“I don’t have anywhere else to go. I made a different call than HYDRA; they have no use for a rogue soldier.” He turned to Barnes. “I want to know who Steve Rogers was, and who he is now.”


	3. Chapter 3

After a few hours in the house, Steve was fairly certain he knew how it worked. It was Natasha’s job to be suspicious of him. Bucky--that’s what he used to call Barnes, he learned--was too excited at the prospect of getting his friend back (and that wasn’t overwhelming at all, thanks) to remember to be wary. A part of Steve, the part that vaguely remembered being protective over Bucky, wished he would be more cautious. Steve could kill him in thousands of ways with practically anything in the room, and just because he hadn’t felt the urge yet didn’t mean he wouldn’t. HYDRA had made killing instinctual for him, and Bucky just didn’t seem to know how to not act like a threat.  
The guy was lucky he walked like an elephant, with the amount of time he kept spending behind Steve’s back. And he really should stop turning his back to Steve to watch over the stove. Apparently he was making pancakes, and Steve was fairly certain that was not a normal reaction to a best-friend-turned-hitman turning up on your doorstep. He was fairly certain that’s what law enforcement was there for, in fact, even if they were mostly useless. But Bucky just asked if Steve remembered anything about him, and upon hearing his response that he only knew what the Smithsonian had on exhibit, launched into a number of stories starring the two of them.  
“The best one is the one time I took you to Coney Island,” he started, reclining in his chair. It took Steve a beat longer than it should have to focus on his words, too busy waiting to see if the chair would tip over.  
“That’s… an amusement park, right?”  
Bucky absolutely beamed back at him. “Yes! You remember it?”  
Steve didn’t know why he hated knowing he was about to disappoint him. He felt Natasha’s eyes on the side of his face, waiting for his reaction as though she knew something Bucky didn’t. “No. Just that it exists.”  
“Well, that’s okay. We can’t expect you to remember everything.” Bucky was trying to smile brightly at him, but he could see the disappointment in his face. “We only got to go together twice. You’ll have read that we didn’t have a lot of money to spare.” Steve nodded. “Well, the second time was good, but it couldn’t beat the first. It was your birthday, but I don’t remember which. It was after your ma died though, and I wanted to get you something special. I couldn’t think of anything, so I decided I’d take you out for the day.  
For some reason, I thought it would be a great idea to ride the Cyclone--it’s still operating now, you know. You didn’t want to go on, insisted you’d throw up. But I got you on anyway. You were right, though. You did throw up. Four or five times, if I remember right.”  
“It was six. But I don’t remember it happening, or anything else about it. Sorry.”  
“Don’t apologize.” Steve was surprised to hear Natasha was the one who spoke up next. “HYDRA has their ways of forcing a person to bend to their will, and they made you their instrument instead of your own person for a long time. It’s only natural that it takes time to regain your humanity.” She got up from the table where they all sat and turned away to open the refrigerator. Steve only stared. When she sat back down with a bottle of water, she started talking again. “You’re going to need help. More help than the two of us can offer you.”  
“Nat, no, we can’t--”  
She sent Bucky a withering look. Steve didn’t know what she was getting at, but he couldn’t deny she was right. Apparently Bucky knew the purpose of her speech, and he didn’t seem to like it. If Steve was going to choose anyone to trust, if he had to trust just one person in a sea of barely-familiar faces, it would be Bucky. That had been why he’d come here. If he didn’t like Natasha’s plan, Steve wasn’t sure he did either.  
“We’re going to have to bring you in.”  
Steve didn’t lash out, but he stood up from the table and took three steps back faster than the two before him could react. “I’ve just escaped from one captivity, and you want to send me to another? Where would you have me go? S.H.I.E.L.D.? There is no S.H.I.E.L.D. It’d be as useful as sending me back to HYDRA in gift wrap.” His hands trembled and he curled them into fists, but he didn’t raise them. “I won’t do it.”  
“Not S.H.I.E.L.D. They’re worse than useless at this point. But I used to be part of the Black Widow program in the U.S.S.R. There, they trained us in the Red Room, and when they sent us out we were each given a set of false memories. To ensure our loyalty, they said.” Steve couldn’t say he wasn’t moved by the confession, but it didn’t relieve the tension in his limbs. “I was deprogrammed by a psychologist that was employed by S.H.I.E.L.D., but retired several years ago. I would bring you to him.”  
“And you trust him?” Steve ground out.  
“I trusted him to let him pick apart my brain so that I could find out who I really was, underneath all of the programming of the Red Room. I’d like you to trust him to let him do the same for you.”  
The tense silence seemed to stretch for eons. “I don’t know if I can do that.”  
Natasha seemed to understand, at least. “Your alternative is being confused like this for the rest of your life. It leaves you vulnerable--all you know is that someone did this to you. You can’t find out who or how or why until you undo it. Or rather, have it undone.”  
Steve deflated, his shoulders falling. “I want Bucky to come with me.” He didn’t think having Bucky there would make much difference, but there was some untouched instinct of his insisting that Bucky come along. If he had really been so important to Steve Before, he should want him there. And his stomach tingled unfamiliarly at the wide smile that appeared on Bucky’s face at the admission. Even Natasha had an approving light in her eyes as she nodded at him.


	4. Chapter 4

The appointments were horrifying. Steve would admit he was glad he’d insisted Bucky come along because although he knew he could take it by himself, Bucky continuously reminded him that he didn’t have to. The doctor said that he could probably get many of Steve’s memories back, but the first ones to come were the most recent ones. Steve had been sent on hundreds of missions, and whenever he misbehaved HYDRA had wiped his memory of even those. Every time he went under, he just relived murder after murder at his own hands. Watching Bucky’s reactions, he was starting to feel guilty. He hadn’t even known these people, hadn’t needed to know them to complete the mission, and so many of them were children. So many of them begged for their lives from a soldier who didn’t have the presence of mind not to take them.  
He started writing each of them down. He did it mechanically at first, not quite sure why he bothered dwelling on what he’d done when there was nothing he could do about it, but it became routine. He’d write out all of the details he could remember--the time frame, the names of the targets (victims), how they’d died. He wished he could write what they’d died for, but he hadn’t needed to know that. If he’d ever asked, he didn’t remember doing so. The Soldier had been trained well. Like a dog with a gun. He didn’t know what he was going to do with the information, but he was so afraid of losing it all again. The families of the people he killed would never forgot. He didn’t deserve to, either.  
He stayed in a spare room in Bucky’s apartment, and found that Natasha was staying there as well--in Bucky’s own room. He couldn’t say why it surprised him that the two of them were together, but it did. It made something in his chest twist, but as he couldn’t figure out why, he didn’t say anything. They didn’t know he stayed awake each night, listening to the sound of their voices conversing in the next room with an uneasy frown until the murmurs quieted down and he could force himself to sleep.  
He hated sleeping, hated that his body needed it. The Soldier had never felt remorse for his actions, but Steve Rogers did, and with the appointments came the nightmares. The first thing he did when he woke up every morning was shower, trying to erase the blood he’d seen on his hands that wasn’t there anymore. Bucky and Natasha always had breakfast ready when he was finished, and then he and Bucky would go out for a run. He didn’t remember Bucky ever waking up to run before work, but apparently this was a thing that New Bucky did. Or maybe Old Bucky had done it too, and Steve just couldn’t remember. Natasha never went with them. She sat and ate breakfast with them, but she’d be gone by the time they got back. Steve had never asked her or Bucky where she went; he figured it was her business.  
There were some days Natasha didn’t stay. Steve didn’t like those days, even though he didn’t like her and Bucky together either. Bucky was quieter when he was alone, more strained--it felt like he was trying to be what he thought Steve needed rather than himself. Steve would admit that sometimes it was disorienting to find that one of the small things he’d remembered about Bucky was no longer true, but it frustrated him more when he acted like this. He wanted to get to know the man who’d been his best friend, who had been so invested in helping him even though they were basically strangers. He didn’t really want Natasha to stay, but he didn’t want her to go, either.  
One of the nights when Steve and Bucky were alone, eating Thai food from the place down the street (and Steve had never imagined he’d ever eat anything like this), the subject finally came up. Steve had asked Bucky to talk about his life since he’d woken up in the present, the life he wouldn’t feel pressure to know about already. And Bucky had been glad to talk about it at first, but when he talked about how he started working with S.H.I.E.L.D. out in the field, he seemed not to know what to say.  
“I mean, they--they decided I was okay to do field missions, and I thought I was ready, so I agreed. It wasn’t anything crazy at first, things they’d normally send teams to do, but they’d partner me up with a soldier to make sure we had each other’s backs in case things went downhill.”  
“And that’s how you met Natasha?” The words came out of Steve’s mouth without his permission, and Bucky’s mouth snapped shut. Steve currently had the social intelligence of a doorknob, but he could still recognize that he probably shouldn’t have said that. Still, he refused to apologize. Bucky was the one avoiding the subject and pretending Natasha and he were no more than just friends.  
“I didn’t think you knew about that.”  
“You’ve got to be kidding. I’m not a kitten, I am vaguely aware of the people around me. You don’t talk about the two of you when she’s not around.”  
“I didn’t want you to get upset.”  
“Why would I get upset? Natasha is fantastic. I just want to know how this all happened. I understand there are some things you shouldn’t tell me right now, but I don’t see how this could be one of them. You guys have really helped me a lot since I came here.” Steve couldn’t fail to notice Bucky sucking both of his lips between his teeth, a gesture he immediately recognized as a nervous habit. “You’ve been leaving something out. What should I know?”  
“I don’t know if you should know.”  
Steve felt his hand tightening against the arm of the couch, could just barely hear the structure creak. “I don’t think that’s your call to make. Tell me.”  
Bucky sighed and leaned back into the armchair he occupied before getting up entirely. “Fine. But I’m making us some hot chocolate first. This is going to be a rough story.”


	5. Chapter 5

When Bucky came back with the mugs of hot chocolate, he sat next to Steve on the couch rather than returning to the armchair on the other side of the coffee table. Steve was beginning to feel uncomfortable in his own skin again, but he didn’t want to ask Bucky to talk about this later. He’d already demanded so much from the man, he shouldn’t try to take it back now that Bucky had already prepared himself for it. But Bucky sat there silent, and Steve needed to say something despite himself.  
“Why don’t you ever talk about you and Natasha?” he asked, his hands tightening dangerously around the mug. He raised it to his lips to calm himself, only to scald his tongue. He returned the mug to his lap, refusing to put it down. He wouldn’t know what to do with his hands otherwise.  
Bucky ran a hand through his hair, a motion Steve recognized from old war videos. It looked different with his hair longer like this, but the flick of the wrist at the end was the same.  
“I wanted to wait to talk to you about this until you remembered it yourself…”  
“Well if you were trying to hide the fact that you and Natasha are seeing each other you didn’t do a very good job.”  
“No, we didn’t--we knew that you would know about us. We weren’t sure how you would react though, so we didn’t want to make it overt.”  
“Why didn’t you just talk to me about it?” Steve couldn’t explain why he was upset at hearing that they’d deliberately avoided discussing it with him, but he couldn’t keep his distress to himself. He couldn’t fathom why this was such a big deal, but Bucky’s unease was seeping into his pores, making it difficult for him to sit still. He sipped at the too-hot chocolate, letting it burn the edges of his tongue.  
“Steve, do you remember anything about the time we spent on the same side of the war? Anything before that?”  
“I’ve already told you, no. I think it’s time you tell me something.” When Bucky remained quiet, Steve worried he’d been too harsh. “Buck, look at me. You’ve done so much to help me, I can’t pretend you owe me anything. But the only reason you’d do that much is if you cared. And if you care, then you should tell me what you know. That’s why I tell you.” Worried he’d said too much, Steve leaned back, pulling his knees to his chest and resting the mug on top of them. Bucky let out a long breath and ran his hand through his hair again, laughing and shaking his head.  
“Fuck, this would have been so much easier if you could have remembered it yourself.”  
“Well I can’t, so you need to tell me. Bucky, please. What is it?”  
“Please don’t freak out.”  
“I’m not going to freak out unless you insist on stalling for another--”  
“We were together. Romantically. It was a secret, for obvious reasons, so you wouldn’t have seen anything about it. We didn’t know what you would think about any of this and we didn’t want to freak you out by telling you before you were ready--”  
“Wait, Bucky. You can’t just blurt something like that out and expect me to follow it, can you slow down a little?”  
“It’s not easy for me either, okay? I just--for you the forties were a long time ago, even if you don’t remember them yet, but it hasn’t been that long for me. I thought you were dead, I thought I had to move on, and I did, I thought I was going to be okay--”  
“Bucky. Please, slow down? I’m sorry that this is hard for you. Can you explain our--relationship, I suppose--and then we’ll talk about what that means when we’re both on the same page? Take a deep breath, drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold.”  
“That’s my line,” Bucky teased, but he took a deep drink before he continued. When he put the mug back down he was still flushed, but his eyes weren’t as glassy as they had been before. “It started the night before I shipped out. I’d rather let you remember the details for yourself, because it was a really important memory for the both of us and I don’t want to impose my point of view on it, but that’s how long it went on. We kept it between the two of us until the very end. I told a few people when I woke up, but nothing public.  
It felt like something that was only supposed to belong to us, you know? We never told anyone about it while we were together--it was too risky. I didn’t want to tell anyone later, either. I wanted it to still be ours, but I knew if I was going to live in this century I had to show my cards a little. And it’s not as dangerous for people to know anymore. It just felt too much like disrespecting your memory to go public with something we’d agreed together to keep a secret.  
We were together from the day you shipped out until the day you fell off that train, and we were in love for a lot longer than that. At least, I was--I never asked about your part.”  
“And you didn’t want your relationship with Natasha to make me uncomfortable because you weren’t sure if I remembered or not? Don’t you think I would say if I remembered something like that?”  
“Yeah, but I wasn’t sure… If you’d changed your mind, you might have kept quiet about it so that we didn’t have to talk about it. Or if you were upset because of Nat and me. So we tried to keep things normal enough so that it would be easier for all of us.”  
“I don’t think anything about any of us is normal.” Steve finished off his hot chocolate, turning the mug in his hands. “You should have told me.”  
“I wanted you to focus on healing.”  
“It feels more like you wanted to hide this from me.”  
Bucky sighed. “I didn’t mean to, Steve, I swear. I just… like I said earlier, it’s hard for me, too. Most people don’t get a second chance when they watch the person they love most in the world fall off the side of a cliff. I want you to be happy.”  
Steve pursed his lips, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You said earlier the forties weren’t that long ago for you. What happened between then and now to make you move on with Natasha?” Steve couldn’t say why this was such an urgent question, but he could guess. Bucky said they had been in love. Steve wished he could remember what that felt like.  
“I decided I had no choice but to let you go. Natasha was understanding about the situation. We were both lonely. It ended up working spectacularly well, despite our beginnings.”  
“But now that I’m here, does this complicate things for you?”  
“Well… a bit. Since the forties were only a few years ago for me, I definitely don’t have the distance I probably should have in order to be fair to Natasha. But it’s not your fault, and I’ve never hidden any of that from her either. You don’t have to worry about it.”  
Steve didn’t feel comfortable ending the conversation that way, but he didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t want to argue, but he didn’t want to cause problems for the couple he was living with, either. He just nodded mutely, collecting the empty mugs and bringing them to the sink in the kitchen. He had a lot to think about.


	6. Chapter 6

A few days later, everything seemed normal again. Steve and Bucky’s conversation hadn’t changed anything outwardly, but Steve couldn’t stop thinking about it. He hadn’t thought anything of why Natasha and Bucky’s relationship had unsettled him, putting it down to his discomfort with other people and moving his focus elsewhere. Now he couldn’t stop analyzing every moment they spent in the same room, looking for affection in every glance. He kept reminding himself he didn’t know why it bothered him--but of course, he did.  
He was jealous, and if he was pressed to admit whom he was jealous of, he would have no idea. Both, he supposed. Not that it mattered, because his jealousy was going to stay bottled up deep inside with the memories he didn’t want to think about where it belonged. No one would ever press him to admit that, and no one would ever have to know.  
Steve didn’t know Natasha Romanov as well as he pretended, which is why he didn’t think much of it when she approached Bucky as they came in from their morning run with three pages ripped out from a notepad and demanded he go grocery shopping immediately. Didn’t think it had anything to do with him, anyway.  
Which is how he got cornered while he was trying to do the crossword at the kitchen table. Thankfully he already had a mug of hot chocolate, because one moment he was trying to think of a six letter word for ‘touch lovingly’ (it was caress), and the next Natasha was sliding into the seat across from him, a question that wasn’t really a question on her lips.  
“So you’re stuck on Buck, huh,” she proposed, smirking. Steve’s head shot up from where he was worrying over the puzzle, the quick movement sending the pen between his teeth flying into the toaster. He’d have to remember to fish that out before Bucky tried to make toast the next morning.  
“What--I have no idea what you mean,” he spluttered, “I wouldn’t possibly do anything to sabotage your relationship or anything like that--” He stopped talking when he heard a soft chuckle.  
“You’re a terrible liar, Rogers. I only pretend to know everything--people like you confirm it for me anyway.” Steve’s shoulders tensed as he sat up straighter in his chair. “Oh relax, I’m not making fun of you. I’m not mad. You’ve got a thing for me too, anyway.”  
“I absolutely do not--”  
“You have a thing for girls who intimidate you. Anyone who’s read enough of your file to see the name Peggy Carter knows that.” Her smirk softened into a smile, just a little. Just enough for Steve to trust it. “Don’t worry, you’re not so bad yourself.”  
“What is the point of this?” Steve sagged, feeling like he was being told the contents of his own mind. He got enough of that without hearing it applied to the current time period, thanks.  
“A proposal. Things after different now than in the forties, Rogers.” She lifted a finger and pointed it at him, then herself. “You, me,” now she pointed at the door, “and our good friend James.” She rested her hand on the table, palm up. “Bucky and I are very good at being discreet, and I at least am very good at reading people. We won’t let a relationship interfere with your recovery. We both care about you. No hard feelings if you say no. Entirely your choice.”  
“A relationship? Between… three people?” God, Steve did not understand the twenty-first century. Thankfully Natasha could have the patience of a saint if the mood struck her.  
“It’s called being polyamorous--being able to feel romantic love for more than one person at a time. James and I talked a lot about his feelings for you when we began our relationship, and it was clear that they weren’t going anywhere despite thinking you were dead. But he was in love with me too, and I was okay with the fact that he’d always have a second love of his life.” She smiled at Steve. “Now that you’re here, I think I’m more than okay with it.”  
“It’s not… it didn’t make you jealous? Knowing that Bucky was in love with me while he was dating you?”  
“It did a little, at first, but. Well. He took our relationship seriously, too. He didn’t neglect me for the sake of your memory. And that balance would continue if we were to all pursue a relationship together.” When Steve continued to stare, dumbfounded, she stood. “Just think about it. Take your time.” She walked around to his side of the table, kissing the top of his head and stealing his mug of hot chocolate as she left the room. He was too preoccupied with his thoughts to notice it was gone until he reached for it automatically only to find an empty space.  
When Bucky came home, he greeted him with a kiss, and that was his answer.


End file.
